


You Give Yourself Away

by Huggle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Can't Find God, Depressed Castiel, Falling Castiel, First Time, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Kissing, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Gabriel, Protective Sam Winchester, Sad Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:56:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's more than just weariness.  </p><p>Castiel isn't sure what's wrong with him and he isn't sure that Dean and Sam actually care.  But as things quickly worsen, the brothers are faced with the brutal choice of finding a way to cure Castiel, or kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Castiel

**Author's Note:**

> Written many a year ago for the Secret Angel Exchange, set in S5.

Part one: Castiel

Watching as angelic fire seared across the denizens of hell, Castiel wondered anew why human history regarded such large scale battles as glorious. The broken forms of his brethren lay all around him, and he could not accept the knowledge that he would never hear them sing again.

Nearby, growling and snapping at the wings that passed overhead, the hellhounds choked against their chains, jaws slavering at the prospect of sinking into the grace of the Heaven-sent intruders.

Castiel reached out with his consciousness and destroyed them; their handlers turned and fled, only to be cut down as an older, stronger demon spied their cowardice. Castiel turned to fly past him – only their mission mattered, nothing could delay him.

A hand seized the edge of his wing and bore him to the ground, and only then did Castiel realise who the demon was. Alastair.

“Hello, pretty little angel,” he leered. He drew Castiel’s wing to his mouth and bit into it.

Castiel screamed as the pain tore through him. The fires of the pit had caught up to him and were roasting him alive. Desperate, he threw Alastair from him, but the demon was old and powerful, and Castiel could not spread his wings quickly enough to escape.

A powerful hand settled on Alastair’s neck and tore him away from Castiel before the torment could continue. Castiel looked up to see Uriel grappling with the demon; it was a fight Uriel would win. His brother had always loved the battle, and trained well for it.

“Go, little brother,” he roared. “Find your righteous man, if such a creature exists.”

Castiel looked away; Uriel had whispered to him of his doubts in these orders, of the potential waste of their garrison in flying straight into the depths. It was blasphemous to doubt, to question. He would have to speak to Uriel, to warn if possible, to command if not.

But not now. He nodded his gratitude and managed aloft as best he could, pushing on, unsure of where to find the one he sought. The brilliance appeared suddenly, only slightly muted by the shadows of the Pit. He banked towards it, drawn by its luminescence.

Dean. He had found Dean Winchester.

~

Uriel always favoured plain speaking. Castiel was grateful that he waited until after they had taken their leave of the Winchesters to vent his spite.  
“Ungrateful, boorish, stupid little mud monkey. If he knew how many had sacrificed themselves to rescue him, the cost!”

“Uriel,” Castiel said, his voice thin. The mission did not grow easier, with seals falling all over the world, Dean’s reluctance and sometimes outright anger towards the angels, and Uriel’s loathing all chafing at him. “He has little idea of what it was like. I’ve hidden the memories from him.”

“The cost,” Uriel repeated. He caught hold of Castiel, supported him with an arm around his waist, and reached back to grab at his wing. 

Castiel hissed. The pain had diminished greatly since the battle, and his wing had slowly begun to mend – enough that he could fly smoothly, and almost as fast as before. It was still sensitive, though he knew it would pass in time. 

He stared at Uriel until his brother released him, and they continued on. 

“It was worth it,” Castiel said, finally.

Uriel snorted at him – a human trait, Castiel noted, wondering if Uriel was aware of the irony or even that he’d done it. 

“You say that now,” he warned, and Castiel felt as though a cold hand had seized his wings and was once again bearing him to the ground.

~

“Get...get Sam,” Dean gasped. He staggered towards Castiel, his younger brother held grimly to his side.

Castiel moved quickly, and caught both of them as they toppled. He held them tight and a moment later they were all in the Impala, the angel in the driver’s seat, and a moment after that, the car was in the parking lot of a motel some miles distant.

Dean was conscious but panting, and Castiel noticed the reddened bulge in his forearm. There were various scrapes and bruises but of all his injuries that was the worst. He reached for it, to heal, but Dean pulled away. He yelped.

“Sammy,” he ordered, and Castiel leaned across the back seat to check on the younger Winchester.

Sam’s head was bleeding from a sizeable gash. Blood streaked down his face, and thick finger shaped bruises were already evident on his neck. Castiel studied him, feeling the heat in the boy’s abdomen that spoke of internal injuries. He reached out a hand, let it fall on Sam’s knee – the only part of the taller brother that he could easily reach – and let his grace flow into him.

A few moments later, Sam was awake and looking as if he couldn’t believe he was alive.

“What? How did....” His eyes fell on Castiel, and there was a flash of fear there. Castiel kept his face blank. Too often when he appeared, he saw the same emotion in Sam’s face. He truly regretted his threat, both to Dean and Sam, but it had been necessary at the time. 

Necessary and completely pointless, since it was clear that both Winchesters were determined to follow their own version of Heaven’s plan, regardless of the threatened punishment. But he would bring all his power to bear if he thought it could erase the fear in Sam that he, or any angel, was ready to smite him from existence, and send his brother back to Perdition.

“Dean,” Sam said, ignoring Castiel and leaning forward. “Oh my God, Dean, your arm.”

“I will heal him,” Castiel said.

“The demon...she stomped on it. I couldn’t get to him.” 

“Sammy,” Dean slurred. He was close to losing consciousness. “Sammy, it’s ok.”

“No, no it’s not, I should have-“

But Dean’s eyes had closed. Castiel reached over but Sam stopped him.

“Wait...we can’t keep sitting here in the Impala. Look, you stay with him, I’ll get us a room, and then we can take care of him properly.”

Castiel was about to argue but Sam was desperate. He understood now the look Dean had defined as the ‘puppy face’. “Very well. Be quick.”

Sam was halfway out of the car when Castiel added, feeling as though it was something Dean would have said if he were awake, “It was not your fault, Sam. He will be alright.”

Sam paused, then clambered out of the back seat and took off for the motel office at a run.

Castiel watched Dean’s breathing. It had evened out, his face relaxed now that he could no longer feel his pain. He reached out again then hesitated, aware of Sam’s instructions. 

Dean murmured something, and his face darkened. He twisted in his seat, and Castiel took hold of him quickly, fearful he would awaken to pain. He pressed his hand to Dean’s shoulder, where his mark remained, and rested his other hand against Dean’s cheek.

“It will be gone soon,” he promised.

Sam returned a few moments later, and opened the door while Castiel carried Dean inside.

~~

“It’s pie,” Dean said. “You need to try some.”

Castiel sat between both Winchester brothers, suffering a growing conviction that Dean had planned it so in an effort to cut off his escape. Since Dean knew he could simply reappear elsewhere, this was clearly another attempt at humour.

He was unsure why the fact that the food in front of him was ‘pie’ meant he had to try some.

Dean held out a fork, expectantly, as if Castiel would hurt his feelings if he refused.

With a sigh, the angel took hold of the fork. He glanced at it, turned it over his in hand, and then looked back down to the pie.

“Cas, do you want me to....” Sam was reaching for the fork, cheeks flushed in embarrassment Castiel felt was on his behalf.

“Geez, Sam, he knows how to use cutlery.” Dean slapped Sam’s hand away and then glanced at Castiel. “Uh, you do know how to use cutlery, don’t you, Cas?” 

Castiel looked from one brother to the other, unsure if he was being mocked. Sam looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. Dean looked like his good humour was fading, to be replaced by nervousness, as though he felt he had overstepped the mark.

Castiel cut into the pie with the fork, scooping up a small piece – cherry, he noted – and put it in his mouth.

Dean was making chewing motions, and Castiel stared at him until he stopped. 

Sam’s huge shoulders were shaking, and he bent forward until his head was almost on the table. “Dude,” he breathed, sounding both fond and exasperated at the same time.

I know how you feel, Castiel wanted to say. He caught himself, and put down the fork. He swallowed the pie quickly, and pushed the plate away.

“Chew,” Dean protested, “Cas, you gotta chew! You want to choke or something?”

“I do not think I like pie,” he told Dean, shamed in the same instant for the lie. “I will meet you back at the car.”

He vanished, sure that Dean would put it down to what he often termed ‘angel freakishness’ when he thought Castiel was not around, and sometimes when he was.

~~

When he awoke, it was to find Dean Winchester kissing him. He lay there, confused and uncertain, not sure how he had gone from striding towards a demon to lying on the ground with Dean’s mouth on his own.

“God,” Dean breathed, and Castiel was honest enough to admit that hearing his Father’s name spoken by that rough voice was like electricity tingling through him. He did not understand it. “God, you’re alive, I wasn’t sure, I thought.... Fucking asshole angel, do not do that to me!”

Dean straightened up, and caught hold of Castiel’s coat, pulling him into a sitting position. Castiel arose easily and grabbed Dean’s upper arm, pulling him to his feet. 

“I do not understand.”

“You don’t....” Dean looked around him, as though there were some clue or person he sought for assistance. “You’re the one who told me that Megala Demons love to chew on angels. Starting with their wings.”

Castiel shivered before he could prevent it. The pain from Alastair’s bite had long since faded, but he had not been prepared for the fear that arose in him at the thought of confronting a horde of Megala. 

“Hey....” Dean grabbed his shoulder, squeezed it a little. “Ok, I’m sorry. Look, you just scared me when you went down like that. And then it didn’t look like you were breathing, so I thought CPR. Sometimes I forget that there’s an angel in there, all grace and power and wings bundled up in that little human body.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Castiel told him. He glanced once at the charred demon bodies, and quickly looked away. He could not bear to be near them. “We should find Sam and leave.”

They headed towards the door of the old building, and Sam appeared as they reached it. “That’s all of them. Cas, you okay?”

Castiel stopped. He was sure Sam had left before he, Castiel, had lost consciousness. Perhaps Dean had called him?

“I am fine.”

“Now,” Dean added, and gave him an annoyed look.

“Ok, well....” Sam glanced between them. “It’s just you’re looking kind of pale. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Castiel followed them to the Impala, noticing how Sam occasionally glanced over his shoulder at him. Almost as if Sam expected him to faint at any moment.

“I am fine,” he repeated, and if he sounded less than convincing it was more out of surprise that Sam did seem genuinely worried about him than any real injury. 

Later, while he helped Sam unload their weapons from the car, the younger Winchester leaned across to him. “Uh, Cas, listen. Try to take it easy with the collapsing in dens of demons that think angels are like Happy Meals. Dean worries.”

Castiel nodded, slowly, remembering the sheer relief in Dean’s face as he’d helped him up. Yes, apparently he did.

~~

He did not approve of the deceit. Dean had doubts – that was surely understandable. In the space of a few hours, he was called upon against his will to employ the skills he’d learned in Hell, against the very creature that had taught them to him.

He’d learned that he had broken the first seal, tortured countless souls to save his own from further agony, and was the one to save the world. 

Castiel had shared in his pain, as the one to set him the task of breaking Alastair. As the one to tell him the truth. It would have been necessary at some point, but he’d hoped to wait. Until Dean was stronger, more prepared.

Zachariah believed in what he’d called ‘the short, sharp shock’. Dean would either cope or he wouldn’t. Break or he wouldn’t. And if he did break, well then Castiel could put him back together again. After all, he’d done it before. And if he had to keep doing it until Dean ‘grew a pair’, then so be it. All that mattered was that Dean Winchester was in the right place at the right time to make the right choice. 

Then Zachariah had changed the subject, as though he had spoken too much, and Castiel had wondered.

He had watched from afar as Dean temporarily lived another life, one that he had seemed happy in until the ghost of the old man drew both brothers into another hunt. They’d survived, seemingly proving Zachariah’s assertion that who they were transcended whatever lives they might have had.

To Castiel, it seemed cruel and unnecessary and he knew Dean well enough to see that it would only antagonise him further, and deepen the cracks in Dean’s already damaged psyche. Zachariah had refused to listen and glanced at him strangely when he had persisted.

Too concerned for Dean, Castiel did not see his own peril until it was too late. He did not realise that this perhaps was as much of a test for him as it was a lesson for Dean.

~~

Too late, he saw that it was a trap. The warning, from a sister, that she had found a demon claiming to have information on a scheme against the Winchesters. He had gone, blindly, lured by a threat against the brothers. 

They were waiting for him in number and he knew what for. Why they had come. He was beginning to realise the truth, to question, and they had come to drive both that knowledge and the doubt it created out of him.

He fought hard, as he had that day he flew into hell to recover Dean. He slit his own forearm and drew a ward on the wall with his blood, but it gained him only a temporary reprieve. Enough time to contact Dean, to ask him to come, because Castiel knew what would happen next.

A human form would not survive the journey to Heaven. Jimmy Novak would be left behind and alone here. Castiel would not reward such sacrifice, or the faith that Jimmy had shown him, with abandonment. And if he wanted to have a vessel to return to, he needed the Winchesters to keep Jimmy safe. 

When they returned en masse, it was so quickly there was no time to draw another ward. He was forced to the ground, and pinned, while Zachariah loomed over him.

“Castiel, Castiel, Castiel. I am disappointed. Such poor judgement you’ve shown. Wasn’t what happened with Dean a lesson for you as well? We all have our roles to play in this little production. But that’s ok, I guess we all need a little coaching now and again.”

He screamed, his anger bleaching into pain as Zachariah put a hand on his chest and purged him from the body, at the same time shielding Jimmy’s form from the presence of pure, unfettered angel. 

The pain was nothing compared to what awaited him in Heaven. His brothers never took their hands off him. They held him for Zachariah’s posturing, his questioning, his fury and threats. They pinned him while Zachariah used his more powerful grace to try and cleanse him, as the elder angel muttered about how tarnished and filthy he’d become. How corrupted by Dean Winchester and his ilk.

He lost awareness just as Zachariah stepped back, exhausted, and bid them leave him alone to recover.

When he awoke, two more of his brothers were trying to soothe him with kind words and soft touch. When he tried to push them away, because he still hurt, they held him down and it began all over again.

~~

Dean had sent him away. He wasn’t surprised. They had kidnapped him, separated him from Sam, and imprisoned him with promises of safety while the world burned.

Dean hated them right now, and hated him most of all.

Castiel walked the hallways of Heaven. All around him, angels were preparing for battle. His old garrison was there as well, but they ignored him. Castiel spread his wings and flew, in search of someplace he could be alone and consider things in private. He had to be careful. If Zachariah sensed the slightest doubt in him again, he would come after him. 

The flaring pain of his grace against Castiel’s made him tremble at the thought of it. He was not sure he could endure another attempt at ‘re-education’. Even if, as Zachariah had termed it with mock concern, it was him being cruel to be kind. Doing it out of brotherly love.

Castiel had seen the look on Zachariah’s face as he writhed in agony beneath the more powerful angel. Love had not been involved in that at all. His treatment had been a lesson for the other angels as much as a violent attempt to bring him back beneath the yoke.

To break him.

Though it hurt to admit it, Zachariah had succeeded almost. Castiel felt ill at the thought of disobeying him, at provoking such treatment again. But he felt worse about Dean. How afraid and alone he was, how angry and helpless, trapped in that room. 

He felt no better at the thought that millions of people were going to die horribly, collateral damage in an angelic conquest of Earth and of Hell. All because Zachariah was bored with the status quo. 

Perhaps many angels did not agree with having their Father’s creations set above them, but Castiel loved them. Not just because his Father had ordered it so, though that would have been enough, but because in them Castiel saw independence. Self sufficiency. Resilience. God had made them with no special powers – no grace and the gifts it brought – and given them a world that was difficult to survive in, arduous and full of pain.

Castiel wondered how his brethren would fare in those circumstances. He doubted it would be very well.

And Dean...Dean’s life had been the most difficult of all. The losses he and Sam had suffered cut Castiel to the core. But both of the Winchesters kept going. They swallowed the hurt and the pain and they kept going. 

If Dean could do so, then how could Castiel do any less? How could he leave Dean when he needed him now more than ever?

He glanced around, and reached out with his grace. Zachariah was occupied, busy with his preparations for war. If he was quick, he could do this. He felt fear overtake him. This could end only one way for him, but Dean would be free and hopefully in time. 

Even if he was too late, or did not even manage to free Dean from his prison, he would have tried and Dean was worth the risk.

Readying himself, Castiel took to flight.

~~

“So. That’s it, then. No more smiting demons. No more healing. I mean, you can still fly, right? Teleport us around? Much as I hate that, because I am not spending another week on laxatives, but it’s nifty in a crisis.”

Castiel felt heat rise in his cheeks. Temper, such as he had not felt before his brethren’s betrayal, howled and tore within him. 

“I will try to find some way to be of use.”

Dean was standing right in front of him, his breath touching Castiel’s face. Short. Rapid. Sour.

“Dean,” Sam warned. Castiel could see Sam standing from the corner of his eye, unsure whether to step in, or step out of the room altogether.

“Fine,” Dean said. He turned away, then back, pointing a finger at Castiel’s chest. “I’m going for beer and takeout. Maybe just beer.”

He left, slamming the door hard enough to make the cheap lightshade sway above their heads.

Castiel stared after him. He was having a difficult time ‘cooling off’ as he’d heard Dean say. Clearly, he was not the only one. It was Dean’s attitude he did not understand. When was it ever enough? He had _fallen_. Disobeyed Heaven’s orders. Interfered with Zachariah’s plans. Fought with the Host and been ripped apart for it, annihilated.

Now he was whole again, in form at least, but his grace...his grace was diminished, barely a subtle glow compared to the radiance it had been before. And he had no clue as to how he had returned. Who had helped him? He was glad to be alive, but he also had to know why.

He did not realise he was shaking until Sam took his arm and guided him to one of the chairs by the table, then eased him down into it. As Sam sat opposite, Castiel stared down at his hands. 

How could Dean not realise what he had given up? What had been done to him?

“It’s complicated,” Sam said. He looked up to see the frustration in Sam’s face. “Dean...look, Cas, he blames himself for all this. Before you switched sides-“

“I was always on your side.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “That kind of depends how you look at it. We were on the _same_ side while we were doing Heaven’s work. But if we smudged the line, it was all threats of Heavenly retribution and being sent back to Hell. I get what you mean,” he added, hurriedly, as Castiel tried to speak, “but you need to accept that for a while all you’d done to make Dean trust you was get him out of Hell.”

All. All he’d done. He smiled bitterly. They couldn’t know, not really – no books, no paintings, not even Dean’s bad dreams could suitably convey what it was like. It sounded as if Sam was describing the time he’d braved a department store for Dean, to buy something for Sam’s birthday. 

Sam’s hand was on his arm, huge and warm through his coat. “But then you realised what was going on, and once you knew, you couldn’t go through with it. Letting Dean and me be used like puppets. Letting Zachariah and the rest treat the world like a Sims game. He knows what that cost you, Cas. He sees it in your eyes, your face, the way you flinch sometimes when someone gets too close to you and you don’t expect it. The way, sometimes, you look lost.”

“I...He thinks I have failed him. Let him down now that I’m not as powerful as I was.”

Sam groaned and shook his head. “This isn’t about you, Cas. It’s about him. Look, he’s a grade A jerk at times, but this? All this?” Sam waved his hand to indicate Dean’s absence. “This is his way of keeping it all at arm’s length rather than say to you what he feels. So I guess I’m gonna say it for him. When he thought you’d died, torn apart by the other angels, I thought I was gonna lose him for sure. Now you’ve turned your back on who are you, your whole family, and Dean...Dean doesn’t think he’s worth it.”

Castiel closed his eyes. Angels screamed around him as they were snatched from the air, pinned to the scorched dirt and torn to shreds. Castiel was clawed and scratched and bitten, trying to keep track of his garrison as they met and broke upon Hell’s demonic defences. Each loss, the way the brilliance of a brother or sister was suddenly snuffed out, cut into him and left him gasping in pain. Still, he persisted, and there was Dean. 

He had a blade in his hand, held over the form of some screaming soul. He looked up at Castiel’s approach, raised the knife and threw it....

Sam was shaking him. “Cas. Castiel!”

Cas opened his eyes. “If I showed him what it was like – what it took to launch an assault upon Hell and its demon army, what it cost us to save him.... He would know then his worth.”

“Maybe you should tell him.”

Shaking his head, Castiel stood. “It’s better that he doesn’t know. There aren’t words to describe it and I took great pains to hide his memories of that place. The knowledge would break him and perhaps you too.”

“Just remember, he doesn’t hate you, Cas. He feels guilty, because of what you’ve sacrificed. He’s afraid for you. Hell, for all of us.”

He had reason, Castiel knew. Now they were hunted by Heaven and Hell. The apocalypse was looming, and Lucifer walked freely upon the Earth. And he himself? He was much reduced in power, possibly able to be bested by the lowest demon. 

“I can make you only one promise, Sam,” Castiel told him. “I will give my life for you, both of you, and to stop Zachariah’s plan from coming to fruition.”

Sam stood up, shifting awkwardly. “You know what? I think we’d both rather that you live for us, Cas. Dean’d totally make this a goofball moment, but fact is he’d prefer you alive than dead. You going?”

Castiel glanced at the door. Dean was not likely to return for some time, and perhaps it was best for them both to have some time apart. “Yes. I will continue to search for my Father. You know how to contact me if you have need of me.”

Sam caught his arm before he could leave. “Listen, if you need us, and you don’t feel ready to talk to Dean yet, ring my cell. Whatever it is or wherever you are. Okay?”

Castiel glanced down at Sam’s hand. He had never expected a time to come when Sam would feel comfortable with being so close to him. “I will. Goodbye, Sam.”

He departed before Sam could reply, and deliberately did not look for Dean as he left.

~~

Over the next few weeks, he saw the Winchesters only a handful of times. Mostly, it was to impart information he had uncovered during his search for God. It seemed he could find things that were of use to the Winchesters, but nothing that helped him in his own quest.

Dean did ask how things were going, and that gave Castiel hope, but there was still a distance between them. Sam would only sigh and give Castiel a sympathetic look, and that gave the impression that he had been the subject of many discussions between the brothers.

He did not know quite when Sam had become his ally in this, but he was grateful nonetheless.

One occasion was when Sam called for help. He and Dean were trying to clear a haunted house, and the ghost had somehow taken Dean away.

Castiel went to him immediately. They searched the house, Castiel using what power he had to ward off the ghost’s attacks as he searched for Dean. Finally, he stopped and closed his eyes. He reached out, searching for any sign of where Dean had been taken. He could feel him nearby and yet hidden from view. It made no sense, unless....

He started to speak, when something struck him hard and he went down beneath a heavy weight. He opened his eyes and found Sam on top of him, and then they were rolling over as something thudded to the ground where they had been lying. Castiel turned to see it was a large table.

Sam got up and helped him to his feet. “Please tell me you have him.”

Castiel turned and punched his fist through the wall. He tore at the plaster and wood until a hand reached out and grabbed his.

“Holy shit,” Sam gasped, and joined in. Between them both Dean was free in moments, and Castiel pulled him out and followed him down as he sank to the floor. Dean lay panting in his lap, covered with white dust. He coughed miserably.

“Fucker,” he yelled. He glanced up at Castiel. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Couldn’t breathe.”

Castiel pressed a hand to his forehead, and only then noticed that Dean was still holding his other hand. “You should have called me before entering the house.”

“Didn’t know I was going to get walled up in it,” Dean replied defensively.

“If you’re done with the tearful reunion,” Sam gasped, and Castiel watched him use what appeared to be a frying pan to ward off a flying ornament, “maybe we could finish this job and get out of here before it brains us with something?”

Castiel reached up with his free hand, touched Sam’s, and took all three of them outside, before he returned to deal with the ghost alone.

When he was done, and went back to the Winchesters, Dean was pacing. At his arrival, the older brother turned on him angrily. 

“What the hell,” he accused. “You do not just go running back into the burning house like that.”

Castiel glanced quickly back at the building. “Dean, it is not on fire.”

For a moment, it looked like Dean was going to hit him. He stepped back, since Dean sometimes seemed to forget that he came off worse when he gave in to such violent impulses. 

“I. Know.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, dislodging some dust. He sneezed pathetically. “Look, are we going to be having this conversation from now until eternity? Stop taking stupid risks, Cas. I mean it. When you find your Dad, I don’t want him coming after me because you got your wings broken.”

Castiel glanced from Dean to Sam, and noticed the grin on Sam’s face. He realised that he was smiling too, and stopped when he saw Dean was glaring at him. 

“Glad you think it’s so fucking funny,” he snapped, and got into the car. Sam shook his head, but he was still grinning. Castiel watched them drive away, wondering if this meant that Dean was speaking to him once again.

~~

Things seemed better until the Harvelles, and then Dean refused to see him let alone speak to him. Castiel wanted to explain – did Dean really think that he would have abandoned them? He couldn’t even get a chance to speak to Sam because it was made clear by Dean and Bobby that he wasn’t welcome, and Sam gave him a sorrowful look and whispered, “Just leave it a couple of days and I’ll speak to them.”

So he did.

He found a relic in a field in Kansas that seared his skin when it touched him, but had a hint of grace around it. He took refuge in an abandoned crypt, and stayed there for a while as he tried to figure out if it was of use to him in searching for his Father. In the end, he put it in his pocket, reluctant to give up on it so soon, and went on looking.

Exactly two days later, he tried to ring Sam, but it went straight to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message. Perhaps Sam hadn’t wanted to be blunt with him. Perhaps he had been protecting his feelings.

He tried again later, with the same result, and began to wonder if he would ever see the Winchesters again.

He left Kansas and made his way through town after town, led by instinct and hope, but it was always the same. No, not always. He found no trace of God, but something was different.

He was growing tired.

It was inexplicable. Yes, his grace was diminished, and he was unable to exorcise demons, to heal others, or himself as quickly as before. But this was more than that. He could not even describe it as a physical tiredness; it sank much deeper, to his very centre.

It was a weariness that troubled and frightened him, and he did not know what to do about it.

In Bermico, a sprawling town built around a huge steel mill, Castiel decided he could not ignore it any longer and used the credit card Dean had given him to book a motel room. Despite his intention to immediately set out and search for his Father, he collapsed upon the bed and slept.

When he awoke, it was dusk, the room was dark, and he had not felt so alone since returning to existence and realising he could not hear his brothers and sisters sing to God. He turned on the television, unsure what if anything he would like to watch, but in the end he ignored the images and left it on only to break the silence of the room.

He sat at the table and thought on what to do next. The relic lay mockingly in the middle of the table, resistant against all efforts to unlock its secrets. Castiel sat and stared at it, as though he could understand it by sheer will alone. All the while, he thought that perhaps Sam and Bobby might be able to help.

Then he remembered that, like the power of Heaven, this was another thing he was cut off from. 

The support of his friends. Of Dean.

If they were his friends, then why was he here alone when he needed them? He remembered Bobby’s fury when he learned that Castiel couldn’t heal him. How Dean had turned on him when he found out that he was no longer as powerful as he had been before. Perhaps Uriel had been right. He had never been more than a tool to Dean. A weapon.

And now that he was virtually powerless – now that he needed help and support as he had often provided to Dean – he was of no further use to the Winchesters. Something sharp cut into him as he realised he was now truly alone. There was no creature in existence on Earth or in Heaven that cared if he lived or died.


	2. Sam

Sam waited until Dean was in the bathroom and Bobby was making dinner, and used his GPS programme to track Castiel’s phone. He felt bad about not answering his phone the two times that Cas had called, but unless he changed the ringtone Dean knew who it was. 

It had degenerated into a ‘him or me’ situation, and Sam was definitely not going to get caught on the wrong side of the line. That said, he felt like shit watching Dean treat the angel this way. There was an untold story there, about that day in Carthage, and Sam had spent long enough being misunderstood by Dean and keeping things from him for fear of losing him that he recognised someone in the same situation. Not that Castiel would be drinking demon blood, but he definitely had wanted to explain to Dean, only his hothead of a brother was too stubborn to give him a chance.

Sam hadn’t given up though. Clearly, the only way Dean was going to sort this out with Cas was he if was forced to, and Sam knew that he and his Father had always been the only people ever able to get Dean to do anything he didn’t want to do.

He got Castiel’s location, thought about it for a bit and googled the town of Bermico. Anything would do, even the craziest most unbelievable urban legend he could find. All he had to do was get Dean there, and hopefully proximity, luck and Castiel could take care of the rest.

“Hey, Dean,” he called upstairs. “I think I found something we should check out.”

Dean almost stumbled coming down the stairs. In nearly a week, all they’d had to do was help Bobby around the house and the junk yard. Supernaturally speaking, it had been a quiet few days; anybody would think there wasn’t an Apocalypse brewing. 

Sam could run a con with the best of them, and Dean wasn’t immune. He was sold on the idea in about ten minutes, and went to tell Bobby that they weren’t staying for dinner. Sam winced as Bobby replied in no uncertain terms that since he’d cooked for three that was the number of people that were going to be at the table. Come Hell or Heaven or high water, and there was an awkward silence for a while after that, until they settled down to eat, and Dean remarked huffily that Bobby sure wasn’t mellowing with age. 

~~

So, maybe the Tale of the Bermico Steel Mill wasn’t _enough_ of an urban legend, Sam decided. And oh, serpent blood? Icky.

He glanced down at himself, hating the feel of his clothes almost gelled to his body, because in addition to the ickiness, serpent blood was sticky and slimy and thin enough that it got in places he didn’t even want to think about. A shower didn’t seem like it would do the job. He needed to duck into a car wash, or hand himself in with his clothes for a specialist clean.

When the last of the snake bodies was burned, the boys staggered back to the Impala. Dean, who was mostly spotless – “Smaller target,” he’d grinned wickedly when Sam questioned it – was eyeing him up warily.

“I’m not riding in the trunk,” Sam snapped. “They have these things called car valets nowadays, Dean. They can clean anything.”

“I’m not letting some weird guy in a jumpsuit clamber all over my baby. If she needs cleaned I’ll do it.”

Before Dean could complain further, Sam dodged him and jumped into the passenger seat. He squelched around as he settled in and fastened his seat belt. 

“Dean? She needs cleaned.”

Dean’s reply was lost as he stowed their gear back in the trunk. Sam peered quickly in the rear view mirror, wiped his hand on his jacket, and pulled out his phone. He dialled Castiel’s number, hoping the angel was still in town and actually speaking to him or this would have been one whole messy waste of time.

The phone rung out for a few seconds, and Sam thought as hard as he could to Castiel (not sure if the angel was on his wavelength the way he seemed to be on Dean’s) to hurry up and answer the phone.

Finally, someone picked up. “Cas?” Sam whispered. “Are you still at that motel?”

He heard a sharp indrawn breath, that sounded wrong in lots of ways, and then the line went dead. Sam glanced at the phone, and then shoved it in his pocket as Dean closed the trunk and got into the car.

“Actually, you’re cleaning the car. I just decided.”

Sam drummed his fingers on his knees. He couldn’t shake the notion that something was wrong with Castiel. He’d answered the phone knowing it was Sam, so why not just speak? Castiel was learning some of the ins and outs of human interaction from them, but it was a slow road, and peevishness was something he hadn’t picked up yet.

“Yeah, you might want to hold that thought.” Dean’s feelings were one thing, and Sam got that Dean would probably feel totally justified in ignoring Castiel’s existence, but he doubted his brother would keep that up if the angel was in trouble. “Look, when I tell you this, you need to know that I was doing it for the right reasons, because sometimes you’re too stubborn to know you’re cutting off your nose to spite your face. And he didn’t deserve what you were doing.”

Dean stared at him coldly. “He? We’re talking about Cas here, right? Mr wrong place, wrong time.”

“Dean, get your head out of your ass. You really think he’d get ripped apart for us and then bail when we needed him the most? What the fuck are you on? Maybe if you’d given him a chance to explain, he’d have told you why he wasn’t there.”

“Maybe I don’t care! I don’t care that he was off getting his halo polished, or his wings groomed or whatever the hell he was doing that kept him from being there. Ellen and Jo don’t care either – oh, wait, can’t ask them, can I? What with them being dead, and all.”

Sam swung before he knew it was coming, and he caught Dean a solid blow to the chin. Dean’s head snapped back, and he stared in astonishment at his brother for a moment.

“When the hell did you become his number one fan, anyway?” he said, quietly.

Sam groaned. This...this was what he’d been trying to avoid. “I...fuck, Dean, I’m not choosing him over you. You’re my brother. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. But you need to deal with this. Who else has he got, really? If something happened to him because you froze him out, don’t tell me you wouldn’t get all swallowed up by the guilt. I’m not going to let you add something else to the weight you’re carrying. I’m just not.”

Dean stared ahead out of the windscreen. He started the engine and turned on the lights. “So, what’s going on with him?”

Sam pulled out the phone. He flipped it open and redialled, hoping Cas had maybe dropped something on his toe, or was watching a weepie or whatever. Maybe he was even having awesome sex.

After almost a minute, he gave up.

“I think we’d better go find out.”

~~

Bermico’s motel was a little larger than most. It was an L shaped building with a wide parking area out back and a small play area nestled in the corner. There was a bar at one end. 

The motel manager recognised Castiel from their description, and said the last he saw him the bar was where he’d been headed, so after trying his room and finding it empty, that was where they’d tried next.

Castiel wasn’t there. There was a band, though, playing songs to make all the guys and gals cry into their beers or dance on the tables, and loud enough that Sam had to almost yell to be heard. 

The waitress, a young girl called Gina, had seen Castiel, and she definitely was worried.

“He left with Tommy,” she said, face screwing up like the name left a bad taste in her mouth. “I tried to warn him, but he was like...sick or something. Couldn’t be drunk, though Tommy tried it hard enough. He bought two pitchers and a lot of beers. Guy didn’t touch hardly any of it.”

Sam saw how Dean’s face darkened. He didn’t know how exactly Castiel had managed to get picked up by a guy, but he hoped nothing had happened or Dean was liable to kill somebody tonight.

They left, heading out back as Gina had advised, and took an old dirt track that led back into the woods. They could see tire tracks that looked fresh, and even some old condoms dotting the edge of the trees.

“Fucker,” Dean muttered as they picked up their pace. Sam didn’t know if he meant this Tommy or Castiel.

A little further on, the track branched off into a larger path. It split, and Sam just knew that was going to happen, because it would be too much to ask that he and Dean get to stay together for once. He did not want to come running back at the sound of gunshots to find Dean emptying a clip into someone for daring to touch his angel. Maybe Dean had the right to be as oblivious as he wanted about Cas, but Sam knew full well that while Dean might hate him a little right now, if anyone even looked at Cas screwy Dean would probably gut them.

In the end, Dean went right, Sam went left, and that was how Sam was the one to find the car.

It was parked sloppily, backed almost all the way into a hollow of trees. Sam slowed and crouched as he approached. It could be a couple of kids, or it could be something else.

By the time he reached the car, Sam knew he’d found the right place. He dumped the flashlight, tore the back door open and grabbed a hold of someone’s coat. Not Castiel’s – it was rough woollen material – and it took him a him effort to haul back.

A man spilled out against him, and when he straightened, Sam knew it would be a fight. He was big, like an angry bull, and he charged Sam with a snarl. 

Sam brought his foot up, catching the man in the midsection, and then drove his knee into his chin as he doubled up. The guy went down to his knees, and Sam caught him in a sleeper hold, hanging on long enough to knock him out. He stepped back and let him topple then darted back to the car.

“Cas?”

Castiel was sitting up in the back seat. His shirt was ripped at the collar, and in the glow of the interior light, Sam could see a handprint rising on his jaw, fingers on one side, thumb on the other.

Dean was going to kill that guy.

“Cas, what were you doing?” He grabbed Castiel’s hand and eased him out of the car. Cas couldn’t stand on his own. He stumbled against Sam, and stayed that way, like Sam was the only thing keeping him upright.

“I...I do not feel well, Sam.”

“I bet.” Sam could smell a little alcohol on his breath, and cursed Dean silently. Maybe, eventually, Cas would have tried booze, but Dean was the one who thought it was a good idea to indulge Castiel in some of the less appropriate human experiences. “Cas, did you let that guy buy you a drink?”

“There seemed no harm. I was alone.”

Sam tried to ignore the wrenching feeling in his stomach. Back there, after Dean’s blow up, he never should have let Castiel leave. This ...all of this, people, the world, life...Castiel might have watched humans live for millennia from heaven, but it was a world of difference between that and actually living.

No surprise he was overwhelmed and therefore making really bad judgement calls.

“Ok, look, it doesn’t matter now, but we’re going to have a little chat later about accepting things from strangers. Did he hurt you?” Because how else did you ask an angel – that guy groping you in the back seat of the car, how far did he get?

Clearly, the answer to that was no. Castiel looked up at him, from where Sam had him supported against his side, and Sam looked down, and Castiel’s gaze seemed endless. It was full of hurt, and despair, and he needed Sam. He _needed_ him.

Sam bent enough to press his lips to Castiel’s, and the angel opened up to him, reaching around to hold him and pull him in closer at the same time. They overbalanced, sliding against the car, but Sam barely noticed. He held Castiel as tightly as he could, trying to push as much into it as possible, that Cas was safe with him, that he wouldn’t be alone now, that he’d be ok.

He felt more than heard Dean’s presence, and from the corner of his eye, because he couldn’t let Castiel go, saw how Dean was looking at them. At him.

“Dean,” he managed, because shit, something was wrong here. 

Dean was backing up, face frozen, but there was anger and hurt all caught up in his body. 

Desperate, Sam used every ounce of self control to push Castiel back. It felt like tearing something in his body, and Castiel sighed sadly as though he’d been expecting rejection all along.

“No, Cas,” Sam pleaded. “Don’t...just hold on, please. Dean!”

“Let me guess,” Dean snapped. “It’s not what I think.”

“Except it really isn’t!” Sam protested. “Dean, come on, you think I’ve been carrying some hidden gay love for your angel?”

Before Dean could reply, or storm away, or start hitting things, the guy Sam had knocked out came to. On his hands and knees, he crawled over the mud towards Castiel and caught the edge of the angel’s coat.

“Mine,” he rasped. “Back off, boy.”

Sam pushed his foot into the guy’s shoulder and sent him sprawling on his back in the mud.

“See?” he said, and if he sounded a little bit like a shrieking little girl, he was going to allow it just this once.

~~

Whatever was going on, and Dean had spent most of the car journey to the motel muttering _Christo_ at them, and had even splashed some holy water on Sam a few times, never Castiel, the freaky ‘gotta have me some angel’ thing seemed to have settled down.

They took Castiel inside, sat him on the bed, and checked the room for anything that might have caused the peculiar behaviour. Nothing found, Dean and Sam salted the room and then sat down at the table. 

“So, Cas, want to tell us when you started hooking up with strange guys you let pick you up in a bar?”

Sam winced. This was too much like Mom and Dad catching their kid sneaking back in after curfew.

“I did not hook up,” Cas protested. He looked forlornly at Sam. “I don’t know what that is.”

Sam kicked Dean under the table. Cas looked almost ready to burst into tears, and suddenly Sam wanted to hit his brother for being the cause of it all. He pushed that away; yeah, Dean could be a dick sometimes, and more than once – hundreds more than once – Sam had wanted to and had actually hit him because of it. Oh, wait, he’d done that today.

But right now, his nerves were all screaming ‘protect Cas’. He wasn’t sure how much of that was finding Castiel on the verge of getting fucked in the back seat of a car by some guy that had tried to ply him with drink, or how much was relating to the impromptu discovery that apparently part of him was gay for the angel. Except he really, really wasn’t.

“Ok, Cas? Why don’t you just tell us everything that happened since you arrived in town.”

After hearing at length how Castiel had arrived, crossed several streets, asked a woman called Miriam if she had seen any sign of God and if not could she please let him know if there was a motel nearby, Dean stopped him.

“Cas, just ...when did things get weird?”

“I was tired,” Castiel said, and Sam wanted to add _no shit_. Castiel looked wrecked, like he’d been pulling double angel duty. His hair was all over the place – because that guy had been running his thick stubby fingers through it – and his eyes were dull. He looked rough as Sam had ever seen him.

Slowly, Castiel leaned back until he was flat on the bed, his feet still on the ground. “I always feel tired, of late. I don’t understand.”

Sam got up to go to him, remembered how hard it had been to keep his hands off Castiel back at the car, and sat back down. Instead, he nudged Dean who glared at him. Finally, his brother went over and crouched by the bed. He put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Cas, you said you’re falling. Could it be because of that?”

“No.” Castiel shook his head. He pressed his hands to his face, so that his voice was muffled, but Sam could still make out the words. “This is not a lack of grace. I feel as though I hunger, but not for anything that I can name. Dean...I am afraid.”

Ignoring the little voice that said _woah, Sam, bad idea _Sam went over to kneel on Castiel’s other side. “I know, Cas, we are too. But we’re together, at least.” He stared meaningfully at Dean, but his brother was way ahead of him as usual. He’d pulled Castiel up into a sitting position and put his arms around Cas’s shoulders. He rested his forehead against the angel’s temple.__

__“And from now on you’re staying with us, Cas. At least until we get this all straightened out. Okay?”_ _

__Castiel nodded, but he was almost asleep. Sam and Dean held him up long enough to get rid of the trench coat, tie and shoes, and then settled him under a blanket._ _

__Sam glanced at Dean, glad that he seemed to have come to his senses, but afraid to question it in case it spurred him in the opposite direction. If he’d known all it would take was to have some guy make advances on Castiel, he’d have.... No, no he definitely wouldn’t, because that thing in the car had to be on his top ten list of things that were so screwed up he wished he had memory white-out._ _

__Once Cas was all the way gone, Sam went to get takeout, and left Dean to watch their angel._ _

__~~_ _

__It took a few hours and some sleep before Castiel seemed to feel well enough to leave. While he slept, Sam searched his pockets, in case someone had given the angel something to make him so...touchy-feely. He wasn’t up to calling it anything else, definitely not willing to think about what would have happened if Dean hadn’t shown up when he did._ _

__Except his mind, traitor that it was, didn’t get the message and happily painted a Technicolor picture of Castiel in the car’s back seat, this time with Sam on top of him and his name on the angel’s lips._ _

__He found something in Castiel’s pocket, and set it cautiously on the table. It was about palm sized, a hexagonal shape with a star cut into the surface. It was solid and heavy, suggesting there wasn’t a hidden compartment or anything. It felt cold when he touched it._ _

__Turning on the laptop, he looked it up and found little by way of reference. He sent a picture of it to Bobby, and clearly the other hunter was either bored or curious because he got a reply straight away._ _

__It was a protective charm, apparently, used by some magic practitioners when they were dealing with dangerous forces. It did not make angels, or anyone else, randy, and Sam could almost read the unwritten question in the text: _tell me Dean didn’t?_ Oh, _Dean_ didn’t._ _

__So, square one was becoming more and more like home. Sam put the charm back in Castiel’s pocket, not sure how to tell him that it would probably not help in finding God, but deciding it could wait until they had something a little less immediate to deal with._ _

__When they left, Castiel definitely looked a little refreshed. He didn’t seem quite so pale, but he was embarrassed. He couldn’t look Dean in the eyes and he couldn’t look at Sam at all. When they spoke to him, he didn’t look up, and just muttered his reply as though afraid to bring too much attention to himself._ _

__They got in the Impala and started out, and Sam found Dean staring at him with the same troubled expression he knew he wore himself. Whatever this was, clearly they both felt it wasn’t over yet._ _

__~~_ _

__Forty miles out of Bermico, the car got a flat. Dean handled it no problem, guiding the Impala to the side of the road, flicking on the hazards, and yelling ‘all out’. Sam made sure Castiel kept clear of the road, and then rolled the spare over to his brother and helped him change the tires over._ _

__He didn’t even know they had company until Dean said, “What the fuck?”_ _

__A truck had pulled in. Sam had been so busy with Dean that he hadn’t even noticed. Way to go for his super awesome hunter senses. Of course _he_ hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. Dean and Castiel had slept like the proverbial babies._ _

__The driver, a big guy with his stomach straining at his check shirt, was stalking towards them intently, and Sam found himself reaching for the knife hidden under his jacket. This was not a good time for a fight, with the car’s puncture meaning they couldn’t escape, and Castiel not exactly-_ _

__Castiel was standing a lot further away than Sam had left him. He was twenty feet further away, to be exact, and it was him the driver was making a beeline for._ _

__“Hell, no,” Dean said, and he was up and running before Sam was even on his feet. It didn’t matter though, because the driver was too close, and Sam was waiting for the guy’s eyes to turn back, and him to either grab Castiel and vanish, or to gank him._ _

__He wasn’t expecting the guy to grab Castiel’s coat and pull him forward for the dirtiest sloppiest kiss Sam had ever seen since the last time Dean had too much to drink and tried to get fresh with a street corner hooker. Who, it turned out later, had been a guy anyway. Sam didn’t tease him about that, because there were just some things that never got mentioned again._ _

__Castiel wasn’t just standing there taking it. After a moment, he reached up and cupped a hand to the back of the driver’s neck, and sort of just insinuated himself further into the guy’s personal space. Clearly, Dean’s lectures about that had fallen on deaf ears or been temporarily tossed out of the window._ _

__Dean leapt at the guy, hauling him off the angel and throwing him to the ground. He pulled his gun, and got between them, aiming at the guy in the dirt. “You son of a bitch,” he spat. “Who sent you? This some new ploy? Getting at me by molesting my angel? I’m telling you, back the fuck off.”_ _

__Sam approached Castiel cautiously, wary of a repeat of last time. He touched Castiel’s shoulder, and saw how tired he looked. Again, despite catching some sleep in the back of the car, and sleeping for hours back at the motel. There was unmistakeable hunger in his eyes, though, as he glanced at Dean’s back, then at the driver, and finally at Sam.  
Something jolted in Sam’s head, and he took a step back from the angel. “Uh, Dean. I don’t think that guy’s a demon.”_ _

__“No?” Dean sounded incredulous. “He just has this thing for dark haired guys in trench coats, and saw Cas from the road. Your lucky day, huh,” he added, kicking the guy in the leg._ _

__“Mine,” the driver insisted stubbornly, and Dean leaned down and punched him out._ _

__“That helps,” Sam sniped._ _

__“Helped me.” Dean reholstered his gun and turned to stare at Cas. “Okay, so I believe you about the hooking up thing. You sure this isn’t some secret part of your angel mojo?”_ _

__Castiel barely seemed to hear. He was staring at Dean like he was the only other person in the world at that moment. Sam took hold of Castiel’s arm, and only then did the angel turn to look at him._ _

__If Sam didn’t know better, he’d have thought Cas had been drugged._ _

__“Yeah, because the soldiers of heaven would have a lot of use for making a guy come in his pants.” He pointed to the wet patch on the trucker’s denims, and ignored Dean’s bitchface. It wasn’t like he went around staring at guys’ crotches, just that it was relevant right now. “Unless you scared him so much he pissed himself.”_ _

__Dean flipped him the finger, and put an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “Let’s fix the car and get to Bobby’s before we have a queue forming. I’ll change the tire and you,” he said over his shoulder to Sam. “You stand next to him and try not to slobber over him this time.”_ _

__Sam glared at Dean’s back. There’d be time for returning fire later but if Dean thought he was going to forget that little jab he was totally wrong._ _

__~~_ _

__Despite Dean’s determination to make it to Bobby’s in record time, Sam was only human and had human needs. Human needs that became more pronounced when Dean hit a bump in the road that made Sam’s bladder roll over and cry ‘uncle’._ _

__“Ok, it’s now or the upholstery,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “Seriously, Dean, I’ll squat behind a bush, but pull over already.”_ _

__As it happened, there was a gas station up ahead, and Dean grumbled as they pulled in. Sam leapt out of the car, followed the sign to the toilets, and let go of what he’d been holding for what seemed like forever. Maybe he had a urine infection or something. He definitely couldn’t hold his water as long as he used to, which was going to be a problem given how much time they spent on the road._ _

__Hell, he could look into it at Bobby’s while he was trying to solve Castiel’s problem. Could probably come up with a plan to solve the world’s economic crisis while he was at it._ _

__He was washing his hands when he heard Dean shout something, and he knew that tone. He rubbed his hands on his jacket and ran back outside._ _

__Two guys had Dean pinned to the bonnet of the Impala. A third was in the dirt with Castiel, kissing the angel’s neck, while Castiel’s hands roamed over his back._ _

__This was getting out of hand._ _

__Sam launched himself at one of the guys holding his brother, and then they were on the deck not far from Cas, although rolling around in a very different way. Sam kneed the guy in the balls and then head butted him, and by the time he was on his feet, the second guy was sprawled against the Impala, blood pouring from his nose._ _

__Dean had a hand in the collar of Castiel’s latest conquest and was dragging him off._ _

__Sam got there in time to keep Dean from beating the shit out of him, and left the guy staring bleary eyed not at them, but at Cas. “Not finished,” he complained. “Come over here.”_ _

__Dean and Sam had helped Castiel up, and as though on some kind of invisible lead, Cas started forward again. Dean and Sam linked arms with him and held him back._ _

__“Cas,” Dean said, forcefully. He shook Cas a little, and finally got the angel’s attention. “Cas, what’s going on with you?”_ _

__“Later,” Sam said, and jerked his head at the other two men. “Before we have to really hurt somebody over this.” They were getting up, and one of them had produced a blade._ _

__Dean kicked it out of the guy’s hand, shoved Castiel into the back seat, and then he and Sam got in the front. They peeled out of the forecourt, and screw them if the three guys didn’t actually chase the car until Dean floored it and they were out of sight._ _

__“This,” he said, quietly. “This is starting to worry me.”_ _

__~~_ _

__With the best will in the world and Dean driving at warp factor fifty, after a puncture and their eventful pit stop, they weren’t making it to Bobby’s that night. They pulled in off road, and kept Castiel in the car, figuring he wouldn’t be such a star attraction if he wasn’t out in the open, and tried to figure out what to do._ _

__“We should stay away from anybody else, if we can,” Dean said._ _

__“Dean, it doesn’t matter if we do. People seemed to get drawn to us, to him. At least if we’re in a motel we have a locked door between Cas and the rest of the world. And I don’t know about you, but I need to get some proper sleep.”_ _

__They were going to play rock for it, but Sam snatched the keys from Dean’s hand and said they were going to get a motel room and if Dean wanted him to drive and risk wrapping them around a tree, so be it._ _

__Dean got the keys back, and Sam cursed him over the pain in his wrist, but he got his own way and about an hour later they were ensconced in No-Name Motel, in No-Name Town, Road to Nowhere._ _

__After years of doing this, they all looked the same._ _

__Booking the room had been interesting. Dean worried about leaving Sam with Castiel in case he came back to find them making a porno in the back seat. Sam felt like hitting Dean again for that particular image, but he could barely raise his head never mind his fist._ _

__He pointed out to his brother that the last time he’d left Dean with Cas, he’d come back to find Dean pinned while some guy made Castiel his bitch._ _

__After a few minutes’ stubborn silence, Dean said they’d all go into the manager’s office._ _

__And that was how they learned – and Sam wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing – that apparently Castiel’s latest talent wasn’t gender or age biased. The manager was a sixty five year old woman, with a tight perm and blond highlights and so much makeup that Sam was pretty sure her facial expressions lasted for hours._ _

__She also had the brightest shade of lipstick he’d ever seen, and it was currently all over Castiel’s cheek, neck and collar._ _

__Her fingernail marks were all over Dean’s face, but Sam had held the office door shut from the outside while Dean hurried Cas into a room. Once the angel was out of sight, the woman seemed to calm down a little. She flopped into a chair, and looked around dazedly._ _

__Sam slipped away before she questioned why he was holding the door shut._ _

__By the time he reached the room, Castiel was passed out on a bed, and Dean was slumped in a chair. “Cock-blocking,” he complained. “Hard fucking work. Who knew?”_ _

__Sam raised his eyebrows, wondering if Dean recalled it as within his elder brother rights when he used to do it to Sam all the time, but was too done in for anything other than filing it away for use later. He locked the door, made a salt line against the doors and windows, and told Dean if they didn’t get some sleep now, they’d be driving off a cliff or something in the morning._ _

__He was almost asleep by the time he got into bed, but Dean was still sitting in the chair watching the angel._ _

__~~_ _

__Whenever he slept, Sam dreamed. Tonight was no exception._ _

__In his dream, person after person, men, women, some it was kind of hard to tell the difference with, were forming a queue outside the motel room. Sam was at the door, letting one in every time another left._ _

__Behind them, Castiel was on the bed, naked and voracious. Each person who entered went straight to him, and Sam wondered what they taught angels in Heaven because he was doing things that made pay per view look like Sunday bible class._ _

__Dean was sitting on the other bed, watching. He looked like someone had stolen the Impala. Each time another person joined Castiel, he looked ready to get up, to interrupt, but his face simply got darker and darker._ _

__“Next,” Sam kept calling. “Next, next, next.”_ _

__With each satisfied customer, Castiel seemed to glow. Brighter, and stronger, until it almost hurt to look at him. As the queue lengthened, Sam watched the next person to leave get only a few steps and then totter and fall. Sam went over to him, and turned him over. His face was sunken, his skin a ghastly gray colour. He drew in a final, rattling breath and fell still._ _

__Straightening, Sam saw he wasn’t alone. There were bodies everywhere, all looking exactly the same. He ran back to the motel room, but Dean was still sitting there watching as Castiel took it from a guy that looked like a legal shark. He still had his suit on, just his flies undone as he pushed hard into the angel. He grunted like a pig with each thrust, and Castiel groaned as though he were precariously balanced between pleasure and pain._ _

__Dean reached out suddenly and caught Castiel’s hand. Cas glanced at him, and then pushed his hand away. “No,” he said. “Not you, Dean.”_ _

__The lawyer came with a roar, and then pulled out of Castiel like he was nothing before staggering away to join the corpse hill forming outside._ _

__Sam covered his ears and closed his eyes._ _

__~~_ _

__“Sam. Sam get up. Now!”_ _

__Sam shot upright, hand going for the gun on his bedside table, but it was Dean. Dean had him by the shoulders and was still shaking him even though he was awake. “Sam, where’s Cas?”_ _

__Sam clambered out of bed and started for the bathroom._ _

__“No,” Dean said. “I checked there.” He sounded like he’d just shot someone by accident. “Shit, Sammy, where is he? I just closed my eyes for a minute!”_ _

__Sam had been too tired to strip, so he started for the door. “I’ll take the rooms to the right, you go left. Maybe start with the manager’s office.”_ _

__They split up, and Dean headed straight for the office, while Sam tried doors. He had a feeling that the one they wanted – presuming, please God if you’re listening, that Cas was somewhere in the motel and not half way to Canada in some guy’s truck – would be the room with the unlocked door. Just a feeling._ _

__Three doors along, he was proved right. He pushed the door open and stood for a moment, letting what he was seeing sink in._ _

__There was a guy on the bed. It was impossible to determine his age. He looked like a shrivelled husk. His skin was almost uniformly grey, except for black blotches under his eyes and jawline. His head was thrown back, as though he’d been in the middle of passion when he died. His mouth was open in a gaping yawn that let Sam see his tongue was black and rotted looking._ _

__Castiel was naked too, sitting with his back against the corner, and his knees drawn up to his chest. He looked up at the intrusion, and gasped, “Sam!”_ _

__Sam crossed the room quickly, and knelt down next to the angel. Castiel was in his arms a moment later, clinging like his life depended on it. Sam hugged him back, trying to keep himself between Castiel and the body on the bed. How long had Castiel been in here? Had he done this? He glanced over his shoulder at the body, and noted how similar it was to the ones in his dream. That meant nothing._ _

__None of this was making any sense._ _

__He stood up, pulling Castiel with him, and grabbed the angel’s clothes from a chair. He peaked out of the door, and whistled to Dean who was trying the last of the doors on his side. Dean ran over to them, took one look at Castiel and tried to charge into the room._ _

__“Too late,” Sam said, and leaned back to show Dean the corpse. It wasn’t often anything rendered Dean speechless. “You get him dressed in the bathroom. I’ll pack our gear and bring the car around. Wipe down any flat surface you can find, just in case.”_ _

__Their prints were definitely in the system, and since Jimmy Novak had been listed as missing – and possibly a threat to himself, since he’d been considered to have psychiatric problems when he disappeared – his might be too. At some point, Sam figured, Jimmy was going to get his life and his body back, and it might be nice if Castiel didn’t leave him a criminal enquiry hanging over his head as a thank you._ _

__That was presuming that Jimmy had survived Castiel’s death. Cas hadn’t said anything one way or the other, and that made Sam think Cas didn’t want to talk about it, which didn’t bode well. He thought about Jimmy’s family, waiting on him, thinking he was still out here with Castiel, fighting the good fight. Safe with the angel._ _

__It made him sick, but it wasn’t all Castiel’s fault._ _

__Dean took Cas from him, likewise keeping him from looking at the nude figure on the bed, and guided the angel into the bathroom. Sam used the edge of his shirt to wipe down the door handle, inside and out, and then walked as casually as he could back to their room. It was early, hardly anyone was up yet, but if their luck stayed true to form they’d be lucky to make it out of here before someone screamed murder._ _

__~~_ _

__They finished the journey to Bobby that day, Dean careful to avoid any traffic jams or foul ups in case anyone around them came down with a case of the ‘Castiel hots’. The angel stayed silently in the back seat. He looked broken, and a couple of times Sam had suggested he sleep, but Castiel looked up, shook his head, and went back to staring with impressive intent at his hands._ _

__His presence, such as it was, meant that Dean and Sam spoke in whispers although Sam had the feeling they could shout and it would make no difference to Castiel at all. Dean pulled in before they actually reached the house, and leaned over._ _

__“What if Bobby gets all hot under the collar too?”_ _

__Sam stared at him. “Dean, it’s _Bobby_.”_ _

__Dean shrugged. “That’s my point. Don’t think those wheels’d hold him back if he decided he wanted some. Do you really need any more nightmare material? I sure don’t.”_ _

__Sam tapped the wheel, and Dean drove on. They parked outside and between the two of them got Castiel out and up to the porch. Bobby was waiting inside, and there was a moment of ‘here we go’ as they waited to see if he would lunge at Castiel or not._ _

__“Something I should know?” Bobby asked, testily, when the moment threatened to develop into a three part mini series. “Anybody signed anything away?”_ _

__“Christ, no,” Dean blurted out, and looked suddenly, guiltily at Castiel._ _

__The angel didn’t even seem to notice._ _

__Bobby did, though, and in one smooth movement spun his wheelchair around and started through the back. “Put him in the panic room. I’ll get the coffee.”_ _


	3. Dean

No matter what was going wrong in their lives, and on any given day that could be just about everything, being at Bobby’s seemed to mitigate it somehow. Not get rid of it entirely, because it was a junkyard not home to the Wizard, but it was and always had been a place of safety. Despite some of the outright shitty stuff that had happened there and sometimes followed them in there.

Dean suspected a lot of it had to do with he and Sam growing up there, but even more had to do with Bobby himself. He had a knack of making any situation seem manageable. 

Except this one.

Castiel had made it downstairs under his own power, barely, and accepted only what help was absolutely necessary to get to the bed. He sat on the edge, and only looked up when Sam and Dean were standing over him.

“Please leave,” he said, roughly, and the sound of his voice on the verge of breaking was enough to make Dean sit right next to him on the bed.

“Don’t think so. Sam, go help Bobby.”

“Dean....”

Dean gave him the look, the one that said _despite everything that’s gone on between us, I am still your big brother_ and _please_ all in one. Sam sighed and thumped up the stairs, leaving them alone.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Dean turned and took hold of Castiel’s coat. He tugged at it meaningfully until Castiel seemed to decide helping was easier than being manhandled, and soon he was sitting there in his shirt, pants and shoes.

“You know,” he said, as he put the coat and jacket aside, “if you have any idea what’s going on here, Cas, you need to tell us.”

Castiel shook his head. “I’ve already told you that I don’t.”

“And you could teach ‘need to know’ to the CIA.” Dean almost chuckled as Cas gave him the ‘I have no idea what you just said’ look. “You didn’t tell me about the seals until you had to. You didn’t tell me about the big plan. Until you had to.”

Castiel looked away, and Dean could almost hear the shutters slamming down. Shit. Was this why he’d stayed and sent Sam upstairs, so he could have the pleasure of tormenting Cas on his own? God, he wished Sam had hit him harder. It wasn’t likely that Cas would take a swing at him.

“There were things I kept from you because I had to. To protect you and because there was a time when I didn’t know that I could tell you. There was also a time when I had to protect myself.”

“Like in Carthage?” The words were out, the genie escaping its bottle, and Dean half expected a flutter of wings and solitude as the angel’s reply. He didn’t expect to find himself on his back, pressed into the bed and to have Castiel’s hands fisted in his T-shirt.

“Is that what you think, Dean? That I decided to abandon all of you to save myself? Perhaps you would like to know where I was. Perhaps I should tell you everything. Where should I start? With what Zachariah did to me for trying to warn you? You probably wouldn’t understand. You probably wouldn’t care.”

Dean struggled to push Cas off but it was like trying to shift an elephant. “Cas,” he started.

“And as for where I was when Ellen and Jo were dying, I was trapped in a fire ring, while Lucifer tried to tempt me over to his side. I told him no. I refused...for you, and for Sam. So he left me there with Meg.”

This time, Dean managed to shift Cas easily. The angel sat back, scooting to the far side of the bed, and Dean could only stare at him. 

“You should have told me,” he accused because, yeah, that was the way to handle this, shift the blame right back on Castiel. Even though Cas hadn’t been flinging accusations about anyway. Good defence and all that.

“I tried. You only seemed interested in what I couldn’t do, not what had been done to me.”

Sam was at the door before Dean could reply. “We may have found something,” he said, and glanced between the two of them. “You guys okay?”

Dean stared at Cas. “No fucking idea,” he spat, and then followed Sam upstairs.

~~

“Hold on,” he said, as Bobby closed the book and put it aside. Sam was standing next to him, and Dean...Dean started pacing up and down, like somehow that he could walk away from this without actually having to go anywhere. “Castiel said this wasn’t to do with him falling.”

“Stupid featherbrain probably doesn’t know,” Bobby said, and Dean couldn’t miss the pity in his voice. “I doubt he’s the first angel to fall like this, but it’s probably not a common thing, and those bastards up there probably don’t advertise it. Got to keep the little soldiers in line; can’t have ‘em thinking that this is even possible.”

Dean felt his legs start to shake, and guided himself down onto Bobby’s ratty old sofa. He knew Castiel’s falling had been a direct result of his choosing their side over Heaven’s, but this was new. New and made him want to scrub his brain over with steel wool to erase the knowledge.

“Just when he thought being cut off from Heaven was as bad as it got,” he sighed.

Sam was suddenly sitting next to him, slipping an arm around his shoulders. “Dean, he should probably be here for this – it involves him.”

Dean shrugged Sam off. “How exactly do you suggest we tell him that’s he not just falling, he’s _changing_ , Sam?” Because that was not a conversation he’d ever expected to have with Cas. How to live as a human, absolutely. There were lots of those little talks that he’d been preparing in his head, each one like a stab to the gut, because it was coming and sometimes he could see it approaching like a slow motion tidal wave.

But not this.

“Are you sure.” It didn’t sound like a question because it wasn’t, because when had Bobby ever been wrong. But if there was ever going to be a first time, let it be now.

Bobby tossed the book to him. “Check yourself. Unless you think some guy who wrote this when Moses was a boy decided to screw with us thousands of years later. It’s fact, Dean, and it fits everything that’s happened.”

Sam told him about the dream, and it sounded just like the body in the motel room. He was still struggling with the concept that Cas had done that. His Cas.

“He probably doesn’t even know he did it, Dean,” Sam said. “I don’t think he knows this is what’s happening to him. But before we go crazy trying to fix this, maybe we need to consider it’s not something that has to be fixed.”

“It’s not?” Dean shrugged Sam’s arm off and got up. “It’s not. He’s turning into a fucking demon and you say it’s not something that has to be fixed.”

“Oh, here we go,” Sam said. “Is there where you storm off to beat seven kinds of shit out of an old car before you’ll listen to me? Yes, right now, it looks bad. And it is. But maybe we can turn this to our advantage.”

It wasn’t that Dean didn’t get where Sam was going with this. He wasn’t an idiot. But he was surprised to hear Sam making this suggestion.

“He’d rather have no power than this power.”

“A demon’s a demon. Even incubi are strong. And his family’s on the lookout for Cas the angel, not Cas the incubus. I’m just saying...if it keeps him alive, he might want to let this happen.”

Dean slumped back down onto the sofa. He couldn’t take it. His brain hurt trying to crawl away from the notion of Cas killing people with sex to refuel. Desperation suffocated him, like it had when everybody seemed to think that Sam sleeping with Lilith was a done deal and he was the only person alive determined it just wasn’t happening. 

“You want to suggest this to him? I’d like to hear you sell this idea, Sam. Do you honestly think he’s going to jump at it?”

“You’re assuming we can stop it. But he might just say yes, Dean. He might.” 

Dean closed his eyes. This...he needed a minute and something would come to him, an idea, a way to stall for time. Because saying yes to things had never ended well with them, and so far that was proving true for Cas as well.

Bobby was watching them in silence. Dean looked at him, and fuck Bobby and his poker face because it was impossible to tell where he came down on this.

But Dean knew where he did. “No,” he said, and started towards the door that led downstairs. “This is a deal we don’t make. Get back to the books. There has to be a way to fix it, Sam, and we are fixing it whether Cas wants it or not. Even if I have to play bodyguard to his not so angelic ass from here until forever.”

~~

Halfway downstairs, he realised he couldn’t go any further and sat down with a bump. Halfway to places was his favourite thing, it seemed. Almost almost there, but not quite. Further than when he’d started but just shy of the finish.

Almost dying, leading his Dad to make that deal. Almost getting there in time to save Sam leading to him making his own deal. Almost being strong enough to resist Alastair’s temptation in Hell, almost telling the Angels to go fuck themselves, almost figuring out what was wrong with Cas before his bosses dragged him off for reprogramming. Always either almost in time or just too late.

Maybe if he just stayed right here on the stairs and never spoke to anybody or went near anybody ever again, he’d be doing humanity a favour. Because every time he got involved with anybody on any level, they ended up paying for it, and the closer they were to him, the worse it seemed to be.

He’d just never anticipated adding Castiel to that list. 

Why the fuck had Cas bothered to pull him out of Hell? How could he have forgotten to pull Hell out of him?

He heard a noise below him, and Castiel was standing there. They stared at each other for a while and then Castiel came up and sat down next to him on the stair. Dean moved over to make room, and then Castiel was warm and solid and next to him.

“This is where I come down and tell you you’re changing into a demon and ask you if you want it,” Dean said. It occurred to him a little late – at least he was consistent – that even in the panic room there was no way Castiel hadn’t heard their little debate, and Dean felt even more of a shit for that. He breaks free from his brethren but that’s okay! Here’s Dean, stepping right in to fill that void.

Castiel nodded, slowly. “Apparently so. I don’t. Bobby’s right – I did not know this could even happen to one of us. I still don’t understand it.”

“That makes two of us. Gabriel...,” Dean started, and then winced. Castiel never mentioned his big brother, and no surprise there. Back from the dead to kick his little brother’s ass just because he could. If he ever ended up saying yes to Michael, there’d be a condition that the first thing he did after ending the Apocalypse was to deliver a major beat down to that fucker. Wipe that smirk off his face so good that even if he went back in time to check, Gabriel still wouldn’t be smiling. Even before the arch douchebag had ever heard of Dean Winchester. 

“Gabriel did not become tainted. Unspeakable.”

“Woah,” Dean said. He turned, grabbed Cas by the shoulders. “You are never gonna be that. No matter how this turns out. Cas, it’ll still be you.”

Cas didn’t smile often; he wasn’t smiling now. The corners of his mouth were turned up, but there was nothing but bitterness there. “Me. A danger to those around me. Surviving by the corruption and murder of others. How, Dean, will that still be me?”

He stood up, unsteady, and Dean was on his feet fast enough to catch him and stop him taking a header down the stairs. For a moment, with Castiel in his arms, he was sure he could just stop all of this by staying right there. He and Cas didn’t have to move from that spot, and life and all its problems and pain could just pass them by and he really could just stand there forever.

As though he could read his thoughts, Castiel said, “There isn’t anywhere to hide from this. Nowhere to wait it out. I won’t get better, Dean, and I won’t stay the same. Even without this transformation. All I’ll get is worse.”

He stepped back and went upstairs, and Dean leaned back against the wall, aware suddenly how cold it had become.

~~

Sam and Bobby were still awake when evening turned to night, and Dean could see them both huddled around dusty old books at Bobby’s reading table. He was sitting on the porch, a beer in hand, two empties on the step beside him.

Out in the yard, the shadowed forms of Bobby’s junked cars became misshapen beasts, rising up to advance like an army on the house and tear apart everything he had left of value in his life.

Dean picked up one of the empty bottles and launched it out into the darkness. It crashed out of sight, and he wondered how that was supposed to make him feel better.

Castiel had tried to eat, at Sam’s insistence. He’d managed a few bites, drank some tea, and almost passed out when he stood up. Sam had caught him, and there was an awkward moment when he looked at Cas and Cas looked at him, but that was as far as it went. 

It seemed like now Castiel was aware of the change, he was trying to master it. It didn’t alter the fact that eventually, no matter how much in control of it he was, he would have to feed.

Now, the angel was back in the panic room, although reluctantly. He didn’t seem to care if his brethren found him; he actually seemed to think that was a solution. It had been a while since Dean had seen Bobby that pissed off at someone. He’d actually threatened to whoop Castiel like his own Daddy would if he didn’t get his ass downstairs and stay there until they had an answer.

Whether it was the obedience reflex inbuilt in all angels, or whether Bobby had managed to actually cow an Angel of the Lord, Dean wasn’t sure, but he was leaning towards the latter. Maybe they should send Bobby after Lucifer. He’d bet money on Bobby managing to send their big bad to his room for a time out.

“This is fucked up,” he whispered, voice hoarse. He didn’t bother to wipe at his eyes. Salt nipped at them, and his cheeks grew hot. As a Winchester, he knew never to expect or hope for good things. That wasn’t part of their apparently pre-ordained life plan. Shit happened, and then came the sequel. You got hurt, your family got hurt, people you loved died, and you took it and kept moving because that was what being part of this family was all about.

Castiel was learning that now. He was learning that because of Dean. Because Dean had asked him to choose.

He heard Sam stop behind him, and looked up, hating his little brother to see him like this. At the same time, not caring, because Sam had seen him at his best and his worst, and Sam was his family. 

Sammy reached down for him, and yanked him up and hugged him so tight Dean thought he might break. He dropped the bottle of beer and felt it slosh against his feet, soaking through his socks.

“Please,” he sighed. “Please tell me you have something we can use to save him.”

Sam’s silence said it all. He let go of Dean, jerked his head towards the door, and led him back inside.

Bobby was sitting in his chair at the table. The book he’d been reading was closed, and pushed aside. There weren’t any others open either. He looked as stern as Dean had ever seen him.

Dean sat down because he was sure he’d never keep his feet through this.

“It’s not the falling that’s caused this,” Bobby said, abruptly. “You boys were right. That’s why Gabriel, and Anna, and Lucifer – all of them – got to keep being Angels without changing.”

“So if not that, then what? Is it a curse? If it’s a curse, we can do something about it.”

“It’s not a curse, Dean.” Sam pulled his chair closer to Dean, and grabbed his shoulder. His hand was on the mark, and Dean felt a moment of irrational anger. Don’t touch that, he wanted to say. Only Cas gets to put his hand there. “I wish to God it was.”

“I don’t get it. It’s not Castiel falling, it’s not a curse. What? Can we get to it because I know you guys have obviously come to some kind of conclusion. We’re up against the clock, here.”

Sam glanced at Bobby, and that was a totally pass the buck moment, but Bobby didn’t flinch. “I found an old passage in a book you don’t need to see, Dean, before you ask. It mentions a few ways an angel can fall from grace. Yours has ticked off a lot of those boxes. Wilful disobedience. Pride.”

“Castiel’s not proud. Not like that.”

“He thought he knew better than Heaven, in other words,” Sam explained.

“He did!”

“When you’re done,” Bobby snapped. “Killing another angel. Forceful rebellion against the authority of Heaven – what Lucifer fell for. And there’s one more which I think is what we’re dealing with here.”

Dean sat there, waiting for them to tell him the worst, because if it was something he already knew or could cope with, then they’d have spit it out already. “Bobby, please.”

It was Sam who blurted it out. “Falling in love with a human.”

Dean laughed. It started out like a giggle, and then he was crying and holding his sides, and he couldn’t breathe and it wasn’t funny but he couldn’t stop.

“That,” he managed, between gulping in air. “That’s your answer. Oh, wait, let me guess which particular human you think Cas has lost his heart to. No, don’t tell me, I’ve almost got it.”

Sam got up and grabbed the book from the table before Bobby could stop him. “See for yourself,” he said, and pushed it into Dean’s hands. “That’s the only way an angel turns into an incubus. They’re supposed to be chaste, Dean. Yeah, it sucks, but I guess Heaven takes a dim view of its warriors lusting after humans.”

Dean opened the book, flicked through it, hating the way he could feel the turn of time on the pages. He did it just to spite them, Sam and Bobby, because this was some stupid shit they were telling him, and he just bet there was a caveat they’d missed, or a translation they’d screwed up. Even if he’d never known either Sam or Bobby to mess up Latin before, because sometimes it was the only thing between you and the demon trying to rip your face off.

There was a drawing on one of the pages. It was an angel, wings drooping as they moulted feathers. It was naked, and holding a woman in its arms as she writhed in ecstasy while her face was a mask of terror. He shut the book and shoved it back at Sam.

“Let’s say I believe you. Which I don’t. What do we do?”

Bobby picked up the gauntlet this time. He rolled back from the table and then over to where Dean sat. “We give him a chance, Dean. We hope he can control this, keep it in check. Feed enough to keep himself going and not overdo it. Because if he kills anybody else with this, we’re gonna have to kill him.”

~~

When Dean was six, and John had been gone a particularly long time, Bobby had got fed up with the way he got underfoot constantly. Dean hadn’t meant to be such a pain, but his mom was dead and his dad was gone, and he was looking after a little brother who took clinginess to extremes.

One day, Bobby had disappeared out back for about an hour. When he’d shouted on Dean, it was to show him a swing he’d set up from the branch of the only tree anywhere on Bobby’s land.

“All kids should have one,” he’d said, and went back inside to alternate between whatever he’d been doing and minding Sam.

Dean had sat on that swing until the evening drew in and Bobby had summoned him for supper. He didn’t go on it every day, but when things got too much and he needed space, or to think, that was where Bobby knew to find him. Sometimes he would share it with Sam but it was his swing, Bobby had made it for him, and when he got as high as he could, feet framed by the sky, there was nothing anywhere that could touch him.

Only one of the ropes remained, now, hanging limply from the branch like it was waiting on being made right again. Dean sat with his back to the tree, wondering if Castiel had been watching him even then. Or had he never heard of the Winchesters at that point? Was it all pre-ordained, or did even Castiel, subservient little brainwashed soldier of God, have some chance at a future of his own choosing? 

If he could make it so that Cas had never heard of him or Sam or anything to do with them, Dean would do it in a heartbeat.

So, he had some things to consider. Not killing Castiel. That wasn’t going to happen. If he had to, if Bobby was actually serious about it, he’d get Sam and they’d put Cas in the Impala and just go. He’d miss Bobby, but he wasn’t about to let anyone else hurt Cas if he could stop them.

He knew he didn’t have to worry about Sam. Sam would stand by him, and he’d stand by their angel.

What he really needed to know was if it was true? That Cas falling had nothing, or at least not everything to do with telling Zachariah and the rest to go screw themselves? Or was it because he’d let Dean taint and corrupt him? Because if that was it, Dean might as well make a noose out of that old rope and dangle; he couldn’t handle the thought that he’d taken something so pure and fierce and tarnished it to the same dirt grey as himself.

Truth was also that if Cas admitted it, Dean might have to do some admitting of his own, and he wasn’t ready to do that. Not ready at all.

“I can’t even pray for help this time,” he said, quietly. It seemed wrong to shout and scream like he wanted. Not a good idea to attract the wrong kind of attention, even if Bobby’s house and yard was covered with sigils and wards and barrier spells. “Nobody I can ask to fix this.”

He closed his eyes, wincing as he felt the pressure drop. Storm had been threatening for a while – he chuckled at that – so pretty soon he’d be soaked through. He didn’t mind.

“I’m hurt that you forgot me so soon, Dean. After the times we’ve shared.”

He knew that voice. He opened his eyes to find Gabriel standing over him, and only the fact that he was stiff and cold prevented him launching himself at the archangel. “You...how did you get in here?”

Gabriel tapped the side of his nose. “I know something you don’t know. And no, I’m not going to tell you. So long as you have _my_ family under this roof, it’s helpful for me to get in and out when I want. Before you get your panties in a twist, it’ll keep the rest of our loving family at a distance so chill.”

Dean got up slowly, bracing his hands on the tree trunk. He used to be able to handle a few (or several) beers better, but then he was tired too. Running on empty, and Mr Trickster showing up uninvited was not making his night any better. “Look, if you got bored, go find some other poor bastard to fuck with. I will go back to that house and find some way to do you damage.”

Gabriel grinned at him and then Dean was suddenly levitating fifteen feet in the air as Gabriel watched him. He was still grinning but it was like a shark waiting on its meal approaching. 

“Damage. Yeah, you’re good at that, Dean. Never let it be said you don’t have talents. Screwing up, dragging others down into your own shit. It’s a family tradition though. Daddy must be so proud.”

“Fuck you!” Dean screamed. “What do you want, you bastard? I didn’t ask you to come here!”

He was dropped roughly, the wind knocked out of him as his ribs protested their ill treatment. For a moment, he could only curl in on himself, and then he remembered who he was and who was standing over him. He got up, took a swing, and almost passed out.

Fucker had cracked his ribs. At least.

Gabriel let him stagger and go down to his knees. “Did you think I wouldn’t know what you did? What’s been happening to Castiel? Did you think I’d stay away?”

Dean focused on breathing, trying to keep the sparkly spots out of his vision. “Don’t wanna hurt your feelings, you cocky fuck, but I don’t think about you that much. And please, don’t play the brotherly love card to me.”

“Oh, that’s right, because you’ve done so well by little Sammy. And you’ll do even better in the coming years. Don’t preach to me, Deano. I might think you need another lesson.”

Dean got up, knowing it was stupid, knowing he should stay down but too stubborn to do it. He couldn’t help himself. That was a Winchester thing too. “The only thing you can teach me is how much I won’t miss you when Zachariah finally wises up to you being alive. Maybe I’ll give him a call, clue him in.”

Gabriel lunged at him, but reined himself in at the last minute. “You really can’t help yourself. Head in the lion’s mouth and still grabbing for its jewels. But I’m not here about you, Dean. Not directly.”

They stood there for a while, Dean getting his breath back, Gabriel looking as on edge as Dean had seen him, just like he was back there when they’d trapped him in the ring of fire. It felt like they were sounding each other out, and only their shared worry about Castiel was keeping them from going at each other.

Who knew?

“Can you help him?” Dean asked, and if he sounded desperate, he didn’t care.

Gabriel shrugged. “Might be too late for damage control. One way to find out.”

~~

Gabriel banished them from the panic room. Dean wasn’t happy about that, but every time he tried to get downstairs, he found himself back in the living room. After the fortieth attempt, he had to surrender. For one thing, the back and forth had him retching in a bucket, and as Sam pointed out, was it really a good idea to test Gabriel’s goodwill?

All the same, the waiting was playing on Dean’s nerves until he jumped at every creak from Bobby’s house, even though he knew every loose floorboard and wall crack that let the wind whistle around. Each time a sound turned out not to be either of the angel brothers coming back upstairs, he slumped back onto the sofa, and stared glumly at the wall.

About an hour later, Gabriel appeared in front of them, and Sam dropped the glass he’d been filling with whiskey for Dean. It was lead cut, so didn’t shatter; it just made a satisfying thump as it hit the floor. Dean wondered briefly if it would be the same for Gabriel.

“It’s true,” the angel said.

“No shit.” Dean glared at him. “If that’s the best you can do, tell us something we already know, then get lost.”

Gabriel smirked at him, but Dean didn’t miss the warning there. “You really are as stupid as you look. Considering this is your fault, I wouldn’t test me. Sammy, rein your brother in before my patience wears a little too thin for him to be clumping around over it. Thin ice is the metaphor I’m aiming for here.”

Dean almost flipped him the finger, but Sam shook his head. “Ok, I’m sorry. Happy? Feel better?”

“Totally. I’m drowning in the warm fuzziness. My brother’s turning into a demon because of you. Fortunately, I think I know a way to fix it.”

Dean could have kissed him. He felt kind of like he was floating for a moment, like all the fear and worry had rolled off of him and he was feather light. It didn’t last, because this was Gabriel and even if they could trust him, Dean had a feeling his way to fix it was going to be freakily difficult.

“You need to have sex with him.”

Well, of course. He should have seen that coming.

“Uh....” Sam stood up, looked at both of them, and sat back down. Then he stood up again. “Isn’t that kind of what started this? Not the actual, physical sex I mean. You know what I mean.”

Gabriel looked at him, almost fondly, and Dean felt his insides shrivel. “I think what my brother’s trying to say is that having sex with an incubus –having sex with Castiel like this is probably a bad idea. And stop looking at him like that.”

He didn’t know he’d said it aloud until Gabriel turned an amused look his way, and Sam went a peculiar shade of pink.

“Normally, you’d be right. That’s why he’s so weak. How do you think Incubi feed? It’s not all about making chubby little demon babies. The only people he’s really been around are you three, and he’s been resisting. Unconsciously, at first, when he didn’t get it; now he’s using every ounce of strength he has to fight it. But he can’t do that forever.”

“So you want me to be his takeout.” Dean didn’t want to be a dick about this, but two wrongs and all that. This sounded like giving a diabetic a bag of candy. 

“No, dimwit. Look, whether you accept it or not, my brother’s like this because he’s fallen for you. You can help, Dean. If you love him, you’ll be fine. If it’s more than just sex for you, you’ll be fine. But if you don’t love him, I’ll kill you – assuming he doesn’t.”

Sam straightened up, and Dean could feel the fury. And the regret – because since he quit drinking demon blood, he was just regular Sam again, not able to call out an archangel for threatening his brother. He watched Bobby roll quietly away to the dresser by the wall, and he just bet that Bobby had something there for dealing with angel shaped problems, ever since Dean had confessed that Cas had once threatened to throw him back into Hell.

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Dean said. He wasn’t even sure he loved Castiel yet, like that, and the place to sort this out was in his head, not in a room with his brother, their friend and someone who thought they were going to be his future dick-in-law.

“Then have it with Cas,” Gabriel ordered. “If you leave it too long, it’ll be too late, and we’ll lose him. Oh, and no smart ideas about killing him, Bobby Singer.” Gabriel pointed back at Bobby without turning around. “BTW, that only works on lower echelon angels. Try it on me, it’s like using a peashooter against The Enterprise.”

“Hold on,” Dean said, because he’d been around Castiel long enough to spot the signs of imminent angel departure. “You’re going? What if he needs you?”

Gabriel sighed. “I’ll be back for him if it doesn’t work. Not that I don’t trust you three, but I don’t trust you three. Don’t try to move him to keep him away from me. I could find my brother anywhere.”

He was gone, just like that, and Dean wondered if Gabriel had told any of this to Castiel, or whether he was breaking the news.

But at least the bastard had fixed his ribs.

~~

Castiel was sitting on the bed when Dean went downstairs. Bobby and Sam were, after a series of discussions which ended in almost physical arguments, sitting in the room at the top of the stairs in case Gabriel had it wrong, and Castiel was so hungry that Dean wasn’t off the menu.

Which totally sucked because if they ended up doing it, it meant virtually zero privacy for Cas, or for him.

The angel – because Dean was not thinking of him like anything else, not yet, not ever – had his back against the metal bed frame, his knees up against his chest, and his arms wrapped around them. His forehead was slumped against his knees and he didn’t look up as Dean entered.

“I take it Gabriel has spoken with you.”

Dean nodded, remembered that Castiel couldn’t see the gesture, and said, “Yeah. You sure he’s not just jerking our chains again?”

Castiel raised his head. “If you mean is he deceiving us for amusement? No. I don’t believe he is. Dean, you are in no way compelled to do this.”

Dean almost sat down on the bed, but now there apparently needed to be sex in their immediate future, it seemed like the worst idea ever. Instead he stood back, and gave a shrug.

“Have you seen yourself? Cas, you look like shit. Sorry, but you do. And I caused this, didn’t I? Because I didn’t realise. I’m sorry, man.”

Castiel smiled at him, but it was devoid of humour. “You do not understand, Dean. You think yourself worthless. The cost of saving you from Hell was high. Amidst the battle, I looked for you and when I saw your light I knew I’d found you. It shone like a beacon, Dean. It still does. I didn’t question the cost of recovering you then and I don’t do so now.”

Dean looked away. He didn’t need to hear this. Cas, Sam, Bobby – everyone who’d ever thought that, looked at him like he really was something had it so wrong. He just didn’t get why they kept expecting more from him. He’d been a screw up before going to Hell, and while down there he’d added murder, mutilation and torture to his list of things there just weren’t enough Our Fathers and Hail Marys to atone with.

The only reason he kept going was because he had to. 

“I don’t want you to change,” he said, and then he thought of the last time he’d told Cas not to change. This...what he was going to become if Dean didn’t sleep with him – was that any better than the future Castiel that Zachariah had shown to him? It would be less desperate, less pathetic, he supposed. But he didn’t want either of those outcomes for Cas. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He was over to the bed before the words left his mouth, and then he was kissing Cas. Clearly, Cas had been waiting on him making the first move, and maybe not daring to hope for it, because there was want and need and so much relief in the kiss he got back that Dean’s knees buckled and then Castiel was on top of him.

“Need to...Dean, I have to....”

“I know,” Dean breathed. He tore at Castiel’s shirt, unable to bare enough skin quickly enough. He pressed his mouth to the curve of Castiel’s neck, even as he grabbed at the angel’s ass, drawing him further down. Cas’s fingers were grappling with his denims, and then he gave a growl and they were both suddenly naked.

Angel or incubus mojo, Dean didn’t know, but he was grateful. He looked up at Cas above him, tried to ignore the feeling of something settling over his senses. Fear. What if he ended up like that guy at the motel room? It was gone as quickly as it came. This was Cas. Cas who had fallen and died for him, Cas who was turning into a demon for him because he loved Dean more than he should.

Cas that he loved just as much back and why the hell had he let it take this to get him to face up to it?

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “What I said...about you and your mojo and Carthage. I didn’t mean it. I got scared and I was hurt and God, Cas, I can’t lose you too.”

Castiel kissed him again, and then he was lowering himself down onto Dean. Dean tensed; he hadn’t prepared Cas or anything but it didn’t seem to matter. Cas wasn’t in pain. He was staring down at Dean with an intensity that made Dean feel like Cas was remaking him all over again.

“You won’t,” Castiel said, and then white hot pleasure burned through him, and he closed his eyed and let it.

~~


	4. Bobby

Sometimes, the days of his life spent watching over those damned boys meant sticking stuff into one of two pigeonholes. 

Things John Winchester would have whipped their asses for, and things he wouldn’t. 

That had pretty much been the way John dealt with his sons, and the first time the family had stayed over, he hadn’t cared enough to notice or comment. By the time they were closer to him than his own kin, he’d realised that John wouldn’t have listened anyway. He wasn’t sure Papa Winchester could change even if he tried.

Mary wasn’t the only one to burn that night.

With an apocalypse brewing, demons and angels walking the Earth and doing as they pleased, and poor little humanity all caught in the middle – probably 99% of them thinking that this was just turning into a shittier than usual year rather than maybe the last year – Bobby had found himself adopting a similar rationale.

Never to the same level of obsession that John had. There were times he’d wanted to take John out back and beat sense into that head of his. But telling John what to do with his family would have seen him put the boys in the Impala and go, because you did not tell John Winchester what to do. About anything. Even if it was the right thing to do.

He’d loved that man – a good man, a good hunter, a so-so Father, but whoever set the grade for dads had probably never imagined the hell a man could be put through. 

He loved those boys. Seeing how they’d turned out though, he was both sorry that John hadn’t lived to see them fully come into their own, and relieved because this past year had not been their brightest.

Sam – taking up with a demon, drinking her blood, almost becoming everything John had warned Dean to stop at all costs.

And now Dean – signing that deal, going to Hell, breaking there (although Bobby would have probably killed John if he’d tried to hold that one over the boy) and now screwing the Angel that saved him. Bobby wasn’t fool enough to think that this day wouldn’t have come regardless – this incubus thing had only brought it on sooner. He could see it, wasn’t surprised that Dean couldn’t, and wasn’t surprised that the stupid Angel hadn’t acted on it.

Fate and its mysterious ways, indeed.

Now, Sam was half asleep on the sofa, blanket wrapped around his huge shoulders, watching warily. In the half light of morning, Dean and Castiel were sitting at the kitchen table. 

Castiel looked more angelic than Bobby had ever seen him, even the first time he’d strode into their presence, all whoop ass and power. Maybe it was the lifting of the demon change from him, maybe it was the light, maybe Bobby should have got a new jar of coffee rather than use the dregs of that stuff at the back of the cupboard.... But Cas looked softer somehow, almost like a waking dream.

Like if Dean touched him, he’d break up and float away.

But Dean was touching him. He had hold of Castiel’s hand like the same thought had occurred to him, and Castiel didn’t look in any hurry to let go.

Bobby wheeled over to where Sam was trying to keep awake. “It’s done,” he told him, quietly. “Go on, you idjit. I’ll stay here just in case, but you might as well get used to a threesome in that car from now on.”

Sam was fully awake in a heartbeat, looking like someone had doused him in ice cold water. “Bobby,” he said, face full of shock and reproach.

Feeling the heat rush to his cheeks, Bobby jerked his thumb upstairs, and swatted Sam’s ass with a cushion as he passed. “Get the hell to your room,” he snapped, trying to ignore Sam’s chuckle.

He waited until Sam was gone, and then rolled down the backway and out to the yard. He pushed on a bit, and sure enough when he reached the old swing, Gabriel was there. Bobby hadn’t thought he’d left. He glared up at the blonde angel.

“So you know he’s okay.”

Gabriel nodded, and Bobby could spot the poorly hidden relief. “Yep. Now I can get back to important stuff, like teaching some more stupid humans valuable lessons.”

Since he was sure even as bad as it could get was mild compared to the shit already hanging over them, Bobby caught hold of Gabriel’s sleeve. “You could help those boys. You should help your little brother. More often, I mean. They’re on the ropes, angel.”

Gabriel glanced down at Bobby’s hand, and he let go. “They chose this fight. I really don’t care if Sam says yes and Dean says yes, and those idiot brothers of mine have a punch up in Madison Square Gardens. For me, life’ll go on just like before.”

“You really think that? Guess Castiel got all the brains in your family. And the heart. He’s not half as powerful as he was, anything that’s passing can take a shot at him, and he’s turning more human by the day. But he still sticks with those boys, because he cares and he knows it’s the right thing to do. They taught him that. What did you teach him?”

Gabriel was gone, between one second and the next, and Bobby cursed him quietly for a few moments. It had taken Castiel a while to work out the difference between Heaven’s thing and the right thing. Given time, he was sure Gabriel would too, especially if he stuck around Castiel a little longer.

After all, Dean had changed Castiel. With a little luck, maybe Castiel could do the same for his brother.


End file.
